


Secret Santa: F1 Edition

by sendoffire



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: 2018 Formula 1 Season, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Formula 1, Friendship, Gen, Helmet Swap, Light Angst, Platonic Relationships, Presents, Secret Santa, all drivers, dealing with FEELINGS, occasional strong language, platonic fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-27 02:11:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17153339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sendoffire/pseuds/sendoffire
Summary: There is a tradition amongst F1 drivers that not many know about: to play Secret Santa, but with their seasonal helmets, and to write a sweet message and holiday wishes to whoever you are gifting your helmet to.This year's Helmet Swap is extremely emotional, because many will leave, while others are writing a new chapter in their careers. Nevertheless, it still brings that warm feeling to the drivers' chests, and makes the room light up with magic and kindness, even if just for one day!





	Secret Santa: F1 Edition

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas, everyone!  
> I hope you have a great time with your families and loved ones, wherever you are :)
> 
> Huge thank you to the groupchat (you know who you are!) for the ideas and prompts that helped me write this fic!

Charles bounced from one foot to another, standing in front of the Toro Rosso hospitality. There were two primary reasons for his actions: excitement and nervousness, both of which bubbled through the veins of the young Monegasque. Fumbling with the ties on the helmet cover, Charles opened it and checked for the hundredth time that the message, written on the side in his handwriting has not been smudged. Satisfied with the result, he carefully enveloped the helmet into its cover again and looked up, when he heard footsteps approaching him. 

“Sorry, sorry, sorry!” Pierre’s voice reached his ears, and soon enough the young Frenchman jogged up to the Monegasque, still wearing a Toro Rosso polo and clutching his helmet in his hands.

“Impatient to give your helmet to its recipient?” teased Charles, when the two started walking in the direction of the drivers’ briefing room at the Abu Dhabi circuit. Pierre shrugged in reply and looked at the helmet in his hands, almost contemplating about not doing this ‘Secret Santa Helmet Swap’ thing at all.

 

Noticing his friend’s anxiety, Charles patted Pierre on his right shoulder in support.

“I’m sure he will appreciate it,” said the Monegasque quietly, sending Pierre a reassuring smile. The Frenchman smiled in return, seeming visually calmer.

 

The two youngsters reached the drivers’ room where the swap process was going to happen - a tradition that drivers established a couple of years ago, deciding to put their own twist on the classic Secret Santa shenanigans.

The commotion inside the briefing room was already going in the full swing, all other 18 drivers already there, and many of them clearly in the holidays’ spirits: Charles briefly noticed the reindeer antlers on Dan’s head and the colorful lights hanging around Brendon’s neck.

 

“Fucking finally,” murmured Kimi in his classic monotone voice, appearing next to Pierre with a glass of what clearly wasn’t water in his hand. Young drivers smiled sheepishly at the Finn, but any attempts to answer were cut off by overly enthusiastic Lewis, waving his helmet around.

 

“Let’s not waste any more instance then! It’s swap time, people!”

The reaction to the loud exclamation of the now-five-time world champion was met with a mix of emotions. Some, like Dan and Fernando, immediately sprung to life and started searching for the recipients of their helmets in the small crowd, excited to give them the gift. Others, including Kevin and Pierre, stayed put, awkwardly shuffling around other men, almost if they were trying to disappear on the spot.

 

Charles started looking for Sebastian, since it was the Ferrari man and his future teammate whose name the Monegasque got out of the hat.

Spotting the mop of dirty blond hair near the table, Charles squeezed through past Carlos and Nico, who both seemed to yet receive their gifts, and popped up next to the German driver.

“H-hi,” stammered the younger man, suddenly feeling very nervous. Seb turned his head in the direction of Charles’s voice and beamed with a smile. The Monegasque smiled weakly in return and stretched out his hands, offering Seb his black, red and white striped helmet. “T-this is for you.”

“Thank you, pup,” Seb smiled and ruffled Charles’s hair, much to the youngster’s discontent. The German proceeded to turn the helmet and start reading the message, written out along the whole surface, except maybe for the visor.

When Sebastian looked up again some half a minute later, Charles almost panicked when he noticed the glistering in the brims of the older man’s eyes. The next thing he knew, he was engulfed in a bone-crushing German hug, and Seb’s voice whispering into his ear: “ _You can never let me down, sweetheart.”_ Charles relaxed and hugged back, burrowing his face in his teammate’s neck.

 

“They sure will give us a hard time next year, won’t they?” said Lewis with a fond smile, looking at the future Ferrari line-up while standing next to Valtteri.

“I hope they will,” smiled the Finn, who was still holding his own helmet, apparently having decided to wait a little before confronting his recipient. Lewis, on the other hand, had two helmets on his hands – one was his own, and another one from Seb, who got the honour to be his gift giver. The German did not write much, but what he did write was straight to the point and the Brit appreciated that, although it did make him chuckle:

 

_Next year I’m beating your British ass. Merry Christmas x_

 

“Who are you giving yours to?” Asked Valtteri, looking at his teammate and nodding at the helmet in his left arm.

“You, actually,” smiled Lewis, gesturing Val to take the starry helmet from him. The Finn eyed him for a second but followed his invitation and took the head-piece, turning it to read the words scribbled on top in Lewis’s messy handwriting.

 

_Not a wingman._

“I know it’s not the trophy for the 1st place in Russia, but…” Lewis didn’t finish his sentence, but Valtteri understood. 

“T-thanks,” said the younger man in shaky voice, rereading the words again. Smiling widely, his lifted his gaze to meet Lewis’s eyes. The Brit simply smiled in return.

 

On the other side of the room, Max made his way through the crowd towards the tall Australian, whom from next year he wouldn’t be able to call his teammate anymore.

“Hey, Dan!” called the Dutchman, causing the other man to turn his head in the direction of the voice. Daniel immediately beamed up with his signature toothy smile, which did not go unnoticed by other drivers around them.

“You know, not only fans will miss you two as teammates next year,” suddenly came Marcus’s voice, which immediately got several nods and murmurs in agreement. It was true – many other drivers would miss the dynamics between the now former Red Bull duo, even if they didn’t want to admit it.

Both Max and Dan smiled, before Max reached out to give Daniel his bright orange helmet with the signature lion logo on top of it.

 “I got you,” simply stated the Dutchman, giving him a lop-sided smirk. Nico, who took the chance to look at the helmet over Daniel’s shoulder, furrowed his brows.

“But there’s nothing written on it!”

 _“He already knows everything I would want to say,”_ simply replied Max with a fond smile, eyeing the Australian. Daniel reciprocated that smile and in the next second moved to engulf the younger man in a tight hug, mostly to hide the tears that started forming up in the corners of his eyes.

“I’ll miss you too, Maxy,” he whispered into his teammate’s ear, before pulling away and giving him a playful tap on the tip of the nose.

 

After this very emotional moment, the swapping process continued.

 

Carlos pulled out Romain’s name, and even though the two never really talked, the Spaniard still wished the other man great holidays and to write another cookbook, to which Romain smiled and thanked Carlos with a side hug.

 

Romain, in his turn, came up to Marcus and handed him his Haas helmet with only one sentence written on it: _It is never your fault._

 

Brendon was destined to bestow his helmet to Lance, and the Kiwi came up to the young Canadian while he was talking to Esteban, giving him his helmet and the fairy lights that were still hanging around his neck.

“That’s for the New Year’s,” joked the blonde, winking at the younger man. Lance smiled and thanked him, after reading the text wished him a great, snowy Christmas somewhere in one of the forests in Canada.

 

Brendon himself got given a white, blue and red-colored helmet from Sergey, who smiled shyly but smirked when Brendon read his message, written neatly on the side:

_We’ll show them what they’ll be missing in 2019._

 

Fernando appeared next to Carlos, dragging the younger Spaniard away from Max to whom he was talking to, and proudly handing him his colorful, Abu Dhabi special edition helmet with a beaming smile. Carlos stood there in awe, cautiously taking the garment from Nando’s palms, almost if not believing that this legendary helmet was now his.

 On the side of the helmet were some holiday greetings in Spanish, obviously, and also a phone number, to which Carlos raised a brow and looked at the retiring driver.

“ _If you ever want to complain about McLaren,”_ whispered Fernando mischievously, immediately earning a snort from his younger protégé.

 

Someone tapped Fernando on his shoulder and the Spaniard turned around, not bothering to ask who it was, until he was met with a very grumpy expression on Kevin’s face.

“What do you need?” strained Nando in a cold tone, eyeing the Haas driver suspiciously. Kevin huffed, clearly not enjoying it any more than Fernando did, and wordlessly pressed his helmet into the McLaren driver’s palms, indicating that he had the joy of getting Fernando’s name out of the hat.

“No!” suddenly exclaimed the Spaniard, immediately attracting attention of all other drivers. “Will only write mean things, I know that. You are always mean. Don’t want your stupid helmet! 

Kevin’s eyes sparkled, but only Carlos, who was still standing nearby, could realise that it wasn’t a glimmer of anger or hate, but rather the reflection of sadness and hurt.

“Ugh, whatever, this whole thing is stupid anyway!” shouted the Dane before storming out of the briefing room, throwing his helmet onto the ground. It rolled away before stopping, tucked under someone’s foot.

 

The room fell into an awkward silence, the only noise being Fernando murmuring something in Spanish under his nose.

 

Checo, who was the one to catch Kevin’s helmet, picked it up and held next to the black helmet of Lance that he got from the young Canadian, set to be his future teammate and who promised him a good battle in the new season. He himself has also already given his Force India helmet to Sergey, the Russian heartedly thanking him for all the warm wishes on his future motorsport career.

Turning the helmet in his arms, the Mexican took the liberty to read Kevin’s message, scribbled on the smooth surface, and although he only got through a half, the next second Sergio was already pacing through the crowd, an angry and protective expression on his face. 

“You, estúpido! ¿Qué has hecho?” He rambled at Fernando, mixing English and Spanish. “The boy writes you the sincerest message, but you are so arrogant and blinded by the hate, you just bully him away! Fernando Alonso, I expected more from you!”

Shoving the helmet into the arms of the startled Spaniard, Checo unceremoniously grabbed a hold of Nando’s ear and tugged him in the direction of the exit, clearly intending on making him apologize to Kevin. Any protests from Fernando’s side were met with a stern expression on the Mexican’s face, and also giggles from other drivers, who witnessed the whole scene.

 

“What did Kevin write?” whispered Carlos to Marcus, who was known to be the closest one to the fiery Danish driver.

“I’m not sure,” shrugged the blonde, worriedly glancing at the door where Kevin disappeared to a minute ago. “But when I gave him my helmet, I caught a glance of his message, and I definitely saw something about Nando being his hero and that he wished they didn’t hate each other.”

 

Marcus felt a bit sad, remembering the cheeky smile on Kevin’s face when he got the Swede’s helmet with “ _Try not to be a dick next year x_ ” written on it, accompanied by a not-so-artistic drawing of a penis next to it.

The blonde knew that the Haas driver will not get offended by his message, on the contrary – Kevin couldn’t stop laughing for two good minutes, and afterwards thanked Marcus with his signature wink.

 

The future IndyCar driver was pulled out of his thoughts when the door suddenly opened, and Kevin entered the room again. The Dane had noticeably red, puffy eyes, but decided to pretend like nothing happened, and when eighteen pairs of eyes burrowed into him, he smiled angelically, showing off his pearly whites.

 

“If you hoped for drama, I’m sorry to disappoint, but you won’t get any.” 

“Si,” came a soft voice behind him, and in the next moment the Dane was pulled into a side hug by Fernando. “No fighting anymore!”

“Mostly because you are retiring, obviously,” teased Kevin, but cuddled into the older driver’s side, happy that the two of them were finally on good terms. Fernando laughed and would’ve ruffled Kevin’s hair, if it wasn’t for the Haas helmet that he was clutching in his right arm.

 

The drivers around them beamed with smiles, happy that the feud was finally settled between their friends. Especially inspired by the truce was a certain young French driver, who was still clutching onto his helmet, gaining the courage to come up to his addressee.

 

Pierre took a deep breath and crossed gazes with Charles on the other side of the room, who gave him a reassuring smile and two thumbs up. Pierre smiled in return and decided to just get this over with.

Searching the room, he immediately found the tall driver he was looking for and began to shuffle through the crowd in his direction.

When he reached the other driver, Pierre shakily cleared his throat to get his attention. The other driver turned, eyeing the Frenchman with a stern look.

“What do you want?” asked Esteban, looking down at the Toro Rosso driver. Pierre huffed and handed him his blue and red helmet.

“Merry Christmas in advance, I guess,” mumbled Pierre, awkwardly shrugging his shoulders. Deciding that there was nothing else for him to do here, the Frenchman hurried to turn away and start walking towards the other drivers.

“Pierre!” suddenly came Esteban’s voice behind him and the Frenchman halted, turning slightly to look at the dark-haired man.

“ _I hope someday we can find truce too_.”

Pierre smiled, and Esteban smiled in return. They definitely had things to work out, but hopefully, someday they could call each other if not ‘friends’, then definitely ‘good acquaintances.

 

The Frenchman was planning on finding Charles and telling him about the swap, but was stopped by a cheerful Stoffel appearing in front of him, a sly smile on his face and the Belgian’s helmet in his arms.

“Guess who is your Secret Santa!” beamed Stoff, handing him the helmet with an anticipation on his face.

“Oh, I don’t even know!” teased Pierre but smiled thankfully and looked at the helmet. There was hardly anything written on it, but what was there is a detailed drawing of a moustache across the space below the visor – one that even Nigel Mansell would be jealous of.

“That’s how you draw a moustache,” snickered Stoffel, looking awfully proud of himself. Pierre laughed and immediately moved to put the helmet on, opening the visor so that he could see properly.

“So – how do I look then?”

“S… Splen.. Splendid!” finally managed to mutter Stoffel between series of hysteric laughs. Pierre joined in and pulled out his phone to take a selfie and put it on his twitter.

 

“Who did you have as your Santa?” asked Pierre after the photo was successfully uploaded.

“Nico!” chirped the Belgian, showing the black and yellow helmet with a big ‘27’ printed across it. The back of the head-piece was covered in white marker, something written in Dutch that Pierre couldn’t understand.

“He wished me luck in my Formula E career and new partnership with the Mercs,” explained Stoffel, seeing the confused look on Pierre’s face.

 

The Hulk himself was about to receive him present too.

“Hey teammate!” came a cheery, Australian accent next to him. Nico smiled when he saw Daniel heading his way. The Aussie decided to put Max’s helmet on, and even though it was a bit small for him, Nico could still see the gleaming brown eyes looking at him through the open visor.

“Ho Ho Ho! Merry Christmas, Nico, you’ve been a good boy this year!”

With that, Dan handed him his helmet, showing off the honey badger with the wings on the back.

 “Aw, thanks mate,” smiled Nico fondly, taking the present. The German was very happy to have the Aussie as his teammate next year, both in terms of on-track rivalry and off-track relationships. 

 

Twirling the helmet in his hands, the Hulk turned it to its side and almost dropped it, hollering with laughter.

On the left side, Dan crossed off the Red Bull logo with silver marker and wrote ‘ _Big Dick Energy Team’_ in capital letters above it.

“Mature, as always,” smirked Nico, looking at the mischievous smile on Daniel’s face.

“What?” exclaimed the Aussie, pretending to be offended. “I’m only speaking the truth!”

“Nah I love it, thanks Dan!” Both men laughed, clasping each other’s shoulders in affection.

 

With most of the swaps done, there were only three drivers left who still hasn’t given their gifts. One of those was Esteban, who reckoned that he found himself in the same position Pierre must have been in when he was giving the Frenchman his helmet.

Esteban’s addressee was none other than Max, and, understandably, the Frenchman was not very eager to approach the tempered Dutchman.

Suddenly, a certain Monegasque appeared at his side, giving him a friendly push on his shoulder.

 “If Pierre could do it, you can do it too,” was all that Charles said, smiling reassuringly at his friend. Este rolled his eyes at the overly-enthusiastic driver, but reckoned that it needed to be done, and he’d rather sooner than later.

 

Leaving Charles behind, the lanky driver approached Max who, when having noticed that Esteban was coming in his direction, immediately furrowed his brows and opened his mouth to say something.

“I didn’t come here to bicker, okay?” Esteban cut in before the Dutchman could say anything. “Just… here.”

With that, Esteban shoved his pink helmet into Max’s palms and without any other word started walking away, just like Pierre did a couple of minutes ago, eager to get away from the potential embarrassment of Max calling him out.

Max blinked, not fully comprehending what just happened yet, but looked down at the helmet in his hands. Only one line was written on its top:

 

_We are both fighters. I hope you get back that Brazil win next year._

Max let out a shuddering breath, looking up at the back of Esteban’s head that was disappearing in the crowd of F1 drivers.

He just realised, that he’ll miss Esteban on the grid next year.

 

Charles was watching the whole scene unfold, but before he could follow Esteban to ask how he felt afterwards, the Monegasque was stopped by a heavy palm landing on his left shoulder. Squeaking in surprise, the rookie turned around to see who it was.

The owner of the palm was Kimi. The Finn looked a bit tipsy, which in his case was expressed by the happy smile on his face, that usually wasn’t there.

“Happy holidays, Charles,” said the Ferrari driver, holding out his Iceman helmet to the Monegasque. The younger man stared in awe, taking the present from the Finn and eyeing it.

He found the message on the right side, written in a messy handwriting.

 

_The ice cream is in the small freezer in the corner of the hospitality, and don’t forget to hug Seb or he gets grumpy. Merry Christmas._

It took Charles all his strength not to snicker out loud. Instead, he beamed with a smile and moved to hug the older driver against his torso, careful not to hit him in the back with the helmet.

Kimi hummed contently and hugged the smaller man back, gently patting his brown hair.

“Thank you, Kimi. You will always be a Ferrari driver for me,” the emotions were getting to the Monegasque and, sniffing, the man pulled back, looking up at the Finn.

“Whose helmet did you get?” the younger driver wondered.

“Nobody’s yet,” shrugged Kimi, not really seemed to be bothered by that fact, but maybe that was vodka speaking.

“Actually,” suddenly came a voice with a Finnish accent behind them, and both the former and the future Ferrari drivers turned in its direction.

 

Valtteri approached the two men with a soft smile on his face and his helmet in his arms. Softly patting Charles’s shoulder, the younger Finn turned to Kimi, stretching out the arm that was holding the helmet.

 “Hyvää joulua,” said Val quietly, smiling sheepishly at the older man. Kimi took the helmet from his arms, but it seemed like a mechanical action, rather than Finn actually comprehending what is happening. The Ferrari driver looked completely dumfounded and shocked, and, for the first time, Charles witnessed the Iceman being at a loss for words.

“Bwoah,” finally came out of Kimi’s mouth, as he rushed to engulf Valtteri in a bone-crushing hug. Everybody laughed, and only now Charles realised that all the swaps have now been done and all others were watching the touching exchange between the Finns.

 

The Monegasque tried to catch a glimpse of Val’s message, but it seemed to be written in Finnish. The young driver only noticed one word at the beginning of the sentence, but still couldn’t say what it meant.

 _“’Isä’ must mean something really sweet in Finnish,”_ thought Charles to himself, while smiling at the sight of two hugging Finns before him.

 

Suddenly the room broke into cheers, as music started to play through the stereo brought in by Brendon and Dan. Sebastian and Fernando appeared out of nowhere, bottles of champagne in each hand of the world champions, while Lance took off the lights, gifted to him by Brendon, and threw them over the table, climbing onto it afterwards.

“Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good off-season!” Hollered Lewis, raising a glass full of champagne, saluting his fellow drivers on the end of another F1 season.

 

Charles cheered with all the others, smiling gratefully at Pierre who appeared at his side, offering him a glass of champagne. Taking a sip, the Monegasque looked around, watching the drivers chatting and congratulating each other on the 2018 results.

 

Charles signed happily.

If this was what it meant to be a F1 driver – a new family – he couldn’t wait for the 2019.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Kudos and comments are always welcomed and appreciated :)  
> You can reach me on instagram (@sendoffire) or twitter (@a_her_o).


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